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It stands as the most memorable entrance in cinematic history – yet the actor stays without moving a muscle.

Clarice Starling, a rookie, proceeds down a row of prison cells arriving at the notorious doctor's transparent prison. The man is present, his face resembling a skeletal visage filled with sinister intent, unnervingly still wearing a snug prisoner's blue outfit. He stands frozen until the moment he propels himself toward the window, producing that extraordinary hissing-slavering sound. Countless documentaries on serial killers have since shown that genuine criminals tend to be quite dull, far from Anthony Hopkins's commanding screen presence.

He was not an unknown upon receiving that Oscar-winning role in the 1991 thriller during the late 80s: he was already established, but a legend was forged. His Dr. Lecter was based, the actor happily remembers in this new autobiography, from Lugosi's Dracula, on the Soviet leader according to his daughter's memories, and on his own strictly demanding acting coach his mentor Fettes. Additionally, there existed a parent-child dynamic in these moments; a sore point for Hopkins, who also describes how his Lear was indirectly affected by an agonised guilt regarding his daughter Abigail, his distant daughter from his disastrous first marriage back in 1966 to his first wife, who was angered by him being away and his alcohol use.

The memoir's title is derived from a vintage war-era photograph of Anthony as a small child on the beach with his dad – the kid who maybe thought he wouldn't succeed. He felt confused, shy and fragile youth from Port Talbot, his father was Richard Arthur Hopkins, the memorable figure in the narrative: a baker and a traditional male, a direct communicator who detested the Bible-punching hypocrites at the church and didn't believe in showing his emotions, but also exhibited dreamy, sentimental tenderness. Richard Hopkins who was angered by the necessity of going humbly to their wealthy relations including Auntie Patty, whose spouse was acquainted with the politician Nye Bevan and helped enroll the young Anthony into a posh school: “Since they are extremely wealthy!” he raves in the car on the way there. “We're all hoping for some pickings! Absolute nonsense, that's the truth!”

The grovelling paid off, for a time. Hopkins was a hopeless student at his new school. But one day in an English lesson he had to recite John Masefield's poem The West Wind – without seeing it first – and that voice came to life; he amazed the instructor and the other boys. He convincingly states that verse, by itself, started his career. This, and joining the YMCA drama club. Remarkably, he left school with low prospects, went into acting, and to the astonishment of his parents, was acting with the great Olivier at the Old Vic in under a decade. He largely achieved it alone, though at that time there were grants to attend Rada – a way up for actors from humble backgrounds. Richard Hopkins was continually impressed by his son's international fame: when he asked Anthony to perform the Yorick monologue from the play Hamlet, Richard listened carefully and then retreated to another room and began crying.

As for the hot-tempered, strong-willed son, he left the National Theatre in a fit of pique – much to Olivier's disappointment and displeasure – but fortunately found a memorable TV character as a suspected war criminal in the series QB VII, which paved the way to parts like that in David Lynch's The Elephant Man and a thriving starry career in movies, which he preferred compared to stage acting. He gave up alcohol during the mid-70s having been a hell-raising alcoholic, and managed to live through midlife to deliver outstanding roles, such as Lecter, the servant Stevens in the movie with Emma Thompson featuring Emma Thompson and the elderly man with dementia in The Father – his next Oscar win.

In the latter half of his autobiography his personality becomes more opaque, more deliberate. Some of the anecdotage doesn't quite come off. He remembers going out for lunch with his fellow actor in Oliver Stone's Nixon, the esteemed thespian Sorvino, who wanted to tell him his portrayal of Nixon was falling short. Was this the moment for Hopkins to learn something from the legendary star of the Goodfellas fame? Not exactly. Anthony appears to agree with Stone's dismissal of Sorvino as being motivated due to resentment. Truly?

He often portrays the no-nonsense, practical performer who believes it's your duty to arrive punctually, know all the crew's names and do the job. Absolutely. Yet he also tells standing up to an unpleasant filmmaker who'd made a young extra cry: “Apologise to her! And learn some manners. You ever do that again around me, I'll rearrange your face! Anthony comes across as a person who quit alcohol but maybe not the belligerence that accompanied it. A classical performer like Hopkins must know Cornwall's speech regarding Kent from the play Lear: “He cannot flatter, he! An honest mind and plain – he must speak truth!”

He finishes his autobiography with an extensive addendum composed simply